


This Happens in the Summer

by anr



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-22
Updated: 2010-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nine times Gibbs wants to kiss Abby (and maybe does).</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Happens in the Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Request: dancing, signing and the phrase 'no promises'.

There is alcohol, once.

Not much, not enough to dull his senses, or impair his judgement. Just a taste, a breath of liquor and want and bite.

(Her skin smooth beneath his palms, his fingers tracing ink and flesh. Her body pressing against his, pushing him back against his door, drawing him in deeper and deeper.)

"Stay," he says, asks.

She does.

  


* * *

  


That she's standing on her bench when he walks into the lab is not a surprise, not really. That she's apparently installing her own security camera, however, is.

"Gibbs!"

He raises an eyebrow towards the camera. "Problem?"

She shrugs. "I'll let you know tomorrow." Jumping down off the bench, she shoves her feet back into her boots. "Right now, however, you're just in time. Major Mass Spec is totally about to whistle for you."

"Whistle?"

Grinning, she nods, shuffling over to her workstation. "Metaphorically speaking, of course."

"Hmm." Following her, he takes a knee next to her, turning her right foot towards him and lacing the boot swiftly. Her hand rests on his head for balance when he reaches for her left foot, changing her stance, her fingers in his hair. "And what's the Major gonna tell me?"

"Now, Gibbs." She looks down, tone admonishing. "You know better than to try for a spoil--"

A sharp beep pierces the air. Looking up at her, he smiles.

  


* * *

  


He's drunk.

He's drunk, and she's drunk, and he's not sure whether that makes it better or worse, whether that means there's less chance of this being remembered tomorrow, or.

He's drunk, and she's -- she tastes like dry vermouth and sloe gin, like drinks that haven't been popular since before he was born, and it's intoxicating how that goes straight to his groin, a sharp aching want that.

He's drunk, and she's there, right fucking _there_ with him, her hands twisting the collar of his shirt as she kisses him hard, wet, and he pushes her against the side of his workbench, sawdust drifting to the floor, his hands tight on her hips, his mouth bruising hers, and.

  


* * *

  


He follows her to a club, once.

There's a case, a dead marine and a rental car, and she's already promised him results by the morning, Major Mass Spec willing, but he's impatient for a lead, for a connection, and when her voicemail answers for the fifth time, he tracks her down.

The room is humid and dark, music blaring like a son of a bitch and the floor space wall-to-wall with a grinding mess of bodies. It's not his type of place, not even close, but it is hers and the look on her face when he finally picks her out of the crowd tells him she's happy here, dancing and laughing with friends.

His gut twists from the case, sharpening into a different kind of feeling, a different kind of want. Suddenly, watching her like this, it almost hurts to breathe.

He leaves before she can notice him.

  


* * *

  


Ziva and Tony are arguing the details in front of the viewscreen, McGee's hunched over his keyboard, typing furiously, but it's Abby he's watching, Abby he can't look away from, Abby who's standing above them all, up on the landing in front of MTAC, fingers loosely curled around the railing.

 _Love you_ , he signs to her.

He doesn't know how else to say it.

  


* * *

  


He's still on his first drink when she slips onto the stool beside him, rain clinging to her shoulders and hair.

"Nice tattoo."

She beams. "You noticed! Gibbs!" Twisting on the stool, she stretches out her leg, showing off the crisp black numbers inked around her ankle, her boots uncharacteristically absent. "Best birthday present ever, right?"

He pulls his gaze away from her legs with difficulty. "Your birthday's not for another two months." Finishing his drink, he gestures for another from the bartender.

"Didn't say it was for mine." Leaning back against the bar, she tilts her head towards him and smiles. "Buy a girl a drink, marine?"

His warning expression is mostly habit.

  


* * *

  


In the evidence lock up, once.

Placing the box on the bench, she leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek. "Didn't I promise you it would be here?" she says, all too pleased with herself.

His arm moves around her waist, holding her steady, close. "I believe your exact words, Abby, were, 'no promises, Gibbs, but I'll look anyway'."

"Well, sure, _out loud_." She laughs brightly. "Really, Gibbs. Don't tell me your reading-my-mind magic powers are on hiatus?"

He's pretty sure he can't lose something he's never had. "I would never tell you that." He kisses her cheek, fingers tightening on her hip briefly. " _My_ promise."

  


* * *

  


He finds her in her lab, slouched over her keyboard and an empty Caf-Pow! cup sitting dangerously close to the edge of her desk.

"Abs?"

"Gibbs?" She stirs sluggishly, straightening with a jaw-cracking yawn. "Oh, I was just about to call you."

He frowns. "When's the last time you got some sleep?"

"Sleep?" She blinks. "Uh, just then? But, whatever, Gibbs -- I have something!" Standing up, she wavers for balance, his hand finding her elbow until she's steady on her feet. "Whoa, head rush." She flashes him a quick, somewhat-sleepy smile. "Thanks."

He has to remind himself to let go of her arm. "Anytime."

  


* * *

  


When he gets back from LA, Abby's in his kitchen making coffee.

"Okay, so before you say anything?" she says as he walks in. "I have an awesome reason for being here like this."

She's wearing one of his t-shirts and not much else. His hands fist. "I'm listening."

"Okay, so maybe it's not an awesome reason, but it's definitely _a_ reason -- well, actually, there's reasons plural, because you know how one reason leads to another reason which inevitably leads to another? Like dominoes? So I've been going over and over them -- the reasons, that is, not dominoes; does anyone even use dominoes anymore? -- and I've been trying to find all the why's and why not's, and I think I've pretty much justified everything the way I know it's need to be justified -- which, by the way, was not as easy as I thought it would be because a lot of the reasons had to be tweaked so that they could fit just right and --"

"Abs!"

She freezes, shakes her head slightly, and then crosses the kitchen to hand him a coffee. "I don't care."

"You don't care," he says, taking the mug.

"No," she pauses, "wait, that's a lie. I do care, obviously -- I wouldn't be here if I didn't -- but not about this."

"This?"

"Gibbs!" She smacks his shoulder. "Stop repeating everything I say!"

He places the coffee mug on the kitchen table. "Then say something that makes sense." _Please_.

"Fine. The reasons against this?" she says. "Not important."

She's stepping closer to him as she talks, her body almost against his, almost, and in that moment he understands. He gets it. _Oh_. "Abby --"

She cuts him off. "The reasons for, on the other hand?" She grins, bright and mischievous. "Also unimportant."

"Abby --" he tries again.

"Gibbs." Her hands reach up to touch his jaw, his throat, his hair, arms linking around his neck. She shakes her head, still smiling. "Anyone ever tell you you talk too much?"

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/394782.html>


End file.
